Broniad Enduring
by Lucky Obsidian
Summary: Revised. OMCOFC. Thranduil and his sons discover bandits operating from their realm. Can an immortal forsake eternity or is a moment all there can be? Haldir&BrosLegolas&Gimli appear also


Broniad - Enduring 

_A/N: This is the revised version.  Set early in the 4th Age. Mostly bookverse.  Haldir is movieverse but he is very much alive! Elvish taken from various places but expressions also from (myhome.hitel.net/~SKC8563/elvish/mine.htm.)  Please note there will be flaws to the elvish in this fic as I am by no means a linguist!  Dedicated to new friends – Pappy, my wee hazelnut!_

Chapter One – There be Dwarves in my Tavern!

"If I recall correctly, and I believe I do! There have always been Dwarf-kind in the Lonely Mountain!"  The drunken man proudly declared.

The four ruddy, bearded figures huddled deeper into their travelling cloaks; pints of ale held tightly by strong, fat fingers and their axes hid well under the folds of brown cloth.

Several curious stares tried to penetrate the conspicuous group but they would not be drawn into the attentive looks of the men in the tavern.

One pair of eyes was more interested than any other.  The glimmer of firelight reflected from brown eyes dark enough to appear black.  Sat alone on a chair in the furthest corner of the room, placed next to the open doorway of the kitchen, was a solitary female.  Her unassuming presence went mostly ignored.  She was unremarkable.  Garbed in traditional dress, a white blouse held secure under black corselet and long mossy green coloured skirts with suede boots.  Her cloak was draped around her shoulders and head as she lounged in her seat watching the dwarves.  

The men in the tavern paid more attention to the buxom females wiping tables and serving ales and breads.  Eruanne leaned back, crossing a leg over the other to have easy access to the knife held sheathed in her boot.  There was no threat in the air but one must always be prepared, especially on the off chance she was recognised.  She continued to monitor the dwarven party, hand shooting out quickly to snatch an apple from a passing girl's laden tray.  She withdrew the knife from her boot and carved the fruit, all the while intent on the four unusual visitors from under sooty lashes.

Hoin son of Gloin II, Mori, Mump and Fitter were at best displeased with the attention diverted their way.  They were also most displeased to be making the particular journey they were set upon. 

"The Pointy Ears will be sure to trick us!" came a growl from Mori.

"We canny be sure there are any elves in Eryn Lasgalen.  Most took the ships to cross the sea." Hoin dismissed his friend.

"There are! I tell ya! That ancient jewel horder is still sitting in his cave, waiting…" 

Mump shivered suddenly, recalling the numerous tales of the Elven King from his root days.

"Dinnae fret so.  Thranduil himself placed the stone upon the breast of Thorin.  There is no reason to be thinking ill of him.  Cousin Gimli has been named 'elf friend' on that we must trust that there will be aid for us." Hoin interjected.

From her corner, Eruanne stopped chewing her apple slice.  She sat straight and listened as carefully as she was able over the din of the tavern.  She would be sworn the dwarves had spoken of a 'stone'.  Her eyes glittered with greed.  Any 'stone' from Erebor would be a gem of mighty weight and worth a prize.  

Much later, as she monitored the dwarven group retire upstairs for the night, Eruanne smiled a feline grin and rubbed her hands together in glee.

Torech would be waiting and he would be very pleased with her reconnaissance.

Chapter Two – Too soon, the best-laid plans fail.

The road from Eryn Lasgalen meandered its way past many villages and settlements but the main township, which adjoined the great forest, was that of Woodvale.  A thriving lumber and fishing industry was keeping the men and woman well fed and prosperous, not unlike their counterparts in neighbouring Lake Town. They worked hard to keep order and peace in their town, following the War of the Ring; the citizens of Woodvale decided they would punish criminals in the harshest manner. It would be a foolhardy person indeed who attempted law breaking in such a place.  Hangings were becoming more frequent.

Eruanne secretly wore breeches beneath her skirts on the sunny morning after her discovery of the dwarves.  A fleeting smile passed her lips as she strolled along the dusty road into the bustling town centre.  In the bright haze of morning sunshine, she radiated with gaiety and was delightful to behold.  Her tousled black hair was glossy in the light and swung in waves down her back.  The dark, keen eyes sparkled with a smug mirth.  Passing the various traders and dwellings, she let her arms swing at her sides in an unconscious gesture of contentment as she approached the tavern and entered to appraise the whereabouts of her quarry.

The watcher was unaware she was being watched.  The effervescence of her youth drawing his attention with a sharp pull.  Cuthalion, son of Thranduil stood in the narrow space between two wooden abodes.  The leaned against one wall whilst his bow rested against the other.  He lazily chewed on a length of grass as he kept vigil on the tavern entrance.  The hair so famous on his father for resembling spun gold was braided from his face in a fashion which had never altered and for which his younger brother Legolas had made famously known to men.

Cuthalion sighed as his thoughts swayed from the girl to Legolas.  His brave, heroic younger brother who had been little more than a messenger before Sauron had risen.  A wanderlust and yearning for adventure were imbedded into his fea.  Cuthalion had been to first of his siblings to realise that Legolas would not be coming home.  Fleeting visits after the coronation of King Elessar Telcontari had resulted in the upheaval of many elves to the forests of Ithilian where Legolas was now ruling as Lord.  Thranduil had let his son go with the foresight that he would one day leave for Aman and the elven king endured a pain in his heart that was only salved by Cuthalions own declaration.  He had informed his family that he would not be sailing to Aman.  His hroa was bound to Middle Earth and he felt no calling to the seas.  

His elder brother Thonion had yet to make his choice and Thranduil was eased much by Cuthalions decision to remain with him.  The youngest of the four children, Loruil had already departed.  He was most akin to his mother's nature and had not the heart to remain and see what would become of the home he had fought shadow to defend.  Loruil had become weary, as had his mother, the Queen Hithiel.

Cuthalion shook his head ruefully; he refused to dwell on melancholy thoughts.  He focused his mind onto the task at hand.  His assignment had come from Thranduil himself.  The naugrim he had been following from Lake Town were carrying a very important item, which had to be delivered safely.

The Adaneth he had seen enter just moments before was now walking away from the tavern in haste.  The elf raised his eyebrow and allowed his glance to follow the sway of her hips as she walked quickly away.  He could not suppress the smile that formed on his lips or the gleam of appreciation in his dark grey eyes.

"Cuio! An naid bain e-guil liin velui..." he whispered softly   (Live! For all things of your life beautiful...)

He went back to chewing his grass shoot as she passed from his vision and waited with patience until his targets plodded from the tavern and began a shuffle along the road leading from town.

Cuthalion waited a short time before raising his hood to cover his distinct features and grabbing his long bow, he stealthily began stalking behind the dwarven party.

Wilwarin all but danced as she walked into town, so light was her mood.  Fair hair swung around her shoulders as she called out greetings to the respectable folk of Woodvale.  Many returned her happy accordance with a smile for the lovely young maiden.  None noticed that she was filling her deep pockets with their property…  The sewn pouches ran down the length of her pale blue cotton skirts and concealed the stolen wares or food items she has been pilfering all morning.

The girl stopped to discuss the leather goods being sold at a stall with a jovial gentleman offering her a reduced price.  A dark haired maiden of similar age winked as she passed Wilwarin and none were the wiser that the two were known to each other.

On the outskirts of Woodvale, in the Forests of Eryn Lasgalen were Torech and his men. They were hidden amidst the eaves of the leafy tree canopy.  All were well camouflaged, their garb in shades of green with hoods covering their dark heads.   Bows were held ready and swords hung at their sides.  Below them, the road from Woodvale was laid out – exposed to an attack such as the one Torech had planned.

If Eruanne's report was correct, he was about to find himself in possession of the fabled Arkenstone.  A jewel so bright it could reflect light even in deepest, darkest caverns under the Lonely Mountain.  Its beauty was a great treasure amongst the dwarves.  He could not understand why they would be sending a small, unguarded party out of Erebor with such a tempting prize.

Cuthalion was wondering the same.  His scouts had reported the dwarven party passing through Lake Town a week prior.  The smallest of the four had become inebriated on some Dorwinion Wine and had been far too vocal.  The dwarves were unaware that Thranduil had sent a guard to protect and keep watch over them.  Cuthalion and seven of his elven troop were scattered in strategic positions within the area.  They converged together only when the dwarves, the naugrim, entered the woodlands.

Finglas held the reigns to both his and his Prince Cuthalions' horses.  He too was cloaked and hidden from prying eyes.  The elves preferred to remain unseen and unknown.  He observed the dwarves making their way past him and he paused to wait for his Prince.  Cuthalion appeared behind him on silent feet and chuckled at Finglas' surprise.  He patted his friend on the back before grabbing the extended reins of the amiable mount and leading them both to continue their stalking of the four naugrim.

Six others joined the two elves as they entered Eryn Lasgalen.  All on horseback now, they rode at a canter to keep a safe distance.  The area had been scouted just moment before and the elves had not spotted the hidden men.

Fitter rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that morn.  Mump was grumbling – again.  Was it not time to stop for a drink?

"NO!" his companions shouted in unison

It was hardly his fault that he had sampled too much elvish wine in Lake Town, he was not used to the potency of such beverages.  Was he still being blamed for the incidents they had encountered as a result?

"YES!" they chorused again angrily.

Mump sulked.  Fitter shrugged his wide shoulders and pushed the huffy dwarf forward.  Mori and Hoin led the way.  They had finally made it out of Woodvale and Hoin was relived there had been no fuss.  They had been careful to keep Mump sober.

Eruanne had her skirts held up and her breeches exposed.  She was standing in the middle of the road directly beneath the brotherhood of bandits waiting to relieve the dwarves of their treasure.  She awaited the signal from her captain, her own brother.  Torech whistled.  Eruanne nodded.  Ahead of her, the stout little figures approached. 

Fitter frowned and grasped his axe.  Mori looked to Hoin who was eyeing the area looking for a trap.  Mump spoke first.

"Well would ya's look at that! Wee lass has her kickers showing!  'Ere lass! We can all see your underclothers!"  He was hollering down the road at Eruanne.

She arched a brow in disbelief.  This would be too easy.  They were all fools!  She dropped her skirts and walked to meet the dwarves.  She noted Fitter was alert and holding a lethal looking battleaxe.  She tried charm and grinned broadly at them.

"Master Dwarf! How awful of you to embarrass me so!"  Her hands were on her hips.

Mump coloured slightly beneath the craggy wrinkles and abundance of ginger facial hair.

"What are ya doin out here, lass?" Hoin asked, suspicion in his voice.

"Just going for a stroll, harmless enough, master dwarf." She kept her focus on him as an apparent leader, just like Torech had taught her to do.

Mori was shifting uncomfortably.  He sensed a plot.  Fitter glanced to their rear but saw nothing.

"Shall I whistle you a tune, my little mountain lords?"  Her eyes flashed and she smiled at Mori.  The dwarf made a keening sound deep in his throat.  Mump was now alerted that the female was a possible threat.

Eruanne took a few steps away from them and let out a piercing whistle.  Mump dropped his small hand axe to cover his ears.  Hoin, Mori and Fitter were instantly in formation for an attack with weapons readied.

From the trees above, ropes dropped and cloaked men climbed down.  In moments they had bows aimed at the dwarves and swords levelled.

Torech spoke to Hoin.

"We know what you have in your possession.  We will have it."

Fitter growled in anger and Mump spluttered.

"We will not give in so easily to a band of scrawny lads and one devious girly!" barked Mori.

Eruanne stood behind her brother and leaned into him.  Her head rested on his shoulder as she eyed Mump.   His eyes narrowed.  She winked at him.  He snorted.  She stared intently.

"The fattest one has the gem," Eruanne laughed at her own realisation.  

"You are certain?" her brother inclined his head in her direction but kept his eyes on the dwarves.

"See him sweat, brother? He is nervous. Much more so than his companions. I believe they have hidden the gem on the dwarf we would least suspect."

Torech signalled to his men and they scuffled with the dwarves, swords met axe and some men were knocked off their feet.  Torech whistled again and arrows rained at the ground, the dwarves danced on their feet before rushing to the undergrowth of the forest floor on either side of the road.  Hoin grabbed Mump by the scruff and observed Mori and Fitter taking cover in bushes to their left.

Hoin had almost made it to cover when Eruanne grabbed Mump by his arm.  They began an ungainly tug of war.  Mump squawked in protest.  Hoin raised his axe to her but was struck in the shoulder by an arrow before he could harm her.  He cried out and dropped to the ground wounded.  Mump was thrown into Eruanne who fell with his weight on her legs.  The dwarf was not about to be captured by some slip of a girl and he quickly rolled and pinned her down.  The dwarf was sitting on her legs while holding her flailing arms.  Fitter and Mori were desperately trying to reach Hoin and it was they who heard the approaching horses first.  Torech heard the pounding of hooves next and called out to retreat, his men were gone from the scene just as the elves arrived.  

"Should we give chase, my Prince?" Aiwendil asked.

Cuthalion was barely repressing his smirk.  He nodded and four of his elves rode on.  Hoin groaned.  Fitter and Mori were at his side in a speed defying their ample girth.  Finglas dismounted and bent to the injured dwarf.  He snapped the arrow shaft and prodded the wound.  Hoin grit his teeth.

"We wish to aid you, master dwarf." Finglas looked to Hoin who shut his eyes and nodded.

Finglas pulled him forward slightly.  Mori braced his friend and Finglas shoved the arrowhead through the flesh of Hoin until it exited his body.  The dwarf grunted in agony but made no other movement.  Finglas was secretly impressed by his courage.  

Eruanne was still restrained under Mump.

"Get off me you fat rock muncher!" she spat out.

"Now that is hardly proper manners, hiril nin." Cuthalion's mouth twisted in amusement.

"I do not recall that I addressed you? Mind your business!"

Heledhir and Celairdon coughed form behind the Elven Prince.  All still obscured from identification under their hoods.

"Help Finglas with our rescued party" Cuthalion ordered.  His annoyance evident.

The elves leaped from their horses and began rounding up protesting dwarves.  

"What shall we do with our thief?" his eyes stormed a bright blue as he spoke to her.

Odd? She thought.  His eyes were dark a moment before…?  Shaking off the perplexion, she softened her gaze and suggested in a feminine lilt;

"Let me go?" 

"I don't think so, Lirimaer" his own matched her cheeky grin.

Eruanne pouted and he laughed.  Mump removed himself from her legs hesitantly but was reassured when Cuthalion locked a vice like grip around her arms and dragged her cursing to his horse.  

"I am not riding anywhere with you!" she dug her heels into the ground.

Mump was appalled.  Cuthalion exhaled before he swatted her behind and threw her over the stallions unsaddled back.  Eruanne screeched her indignation.  The elf wondered where her sweet maiden persona had vanished.  This shrew was causing his teeth to grit.

"Wish I'd done that sooner" muttered Fitter watching the cloaked man take his hand to the girls rear-end.

Heledhir was charged with securing Hoin as the dwarf was gently lifted onto his mount.  It took both elves to hoist him up but they were successful after much heaving.  Heledhir swung himself gracefully up behind the dwarf and held him fast.

Celairdon whispered into his horse's ear and Mump was amazed as the beast bent its front legs and lowered to the ground.  He was able to struggle onto the animal and was quite proud that no one had lifted him up anywhere!  

Aiwendil and his three riders returned and Mori and Fitter took positions behind two of the cloaked elves.  Cuthalion was perturbed that Aiwendil and his Edhil had tracked the men to a valley where they had then lost them.

"The trees would not speak to us in this place, my Prince.  It was very unusual indeed."

"Very well, Aiwendil.  We shall report this to my Brother and see what is to be done."

Cuthalion turned from his friend and mounted his horse behind Eruanne.  He held her lightly but in an uncompromising manner.  The back of her neck tingled where his breath met her skin and a warmth was spreading from her stomach to her cheeks.  Her heated response was embarrassing.  The elf did not give any indication that he too was affected by her close proximity.  This was despite the fact that he felt an answering heat in his own body.

Aiwendil bowed his head to Cuthalion and smiled as he directed his own horse to lead them onwards. The elves headed off the road and galloped deeper into the forest.  The girl in front of him shivered slightly as they increased their pace.  She was not wearing a cloak and her bare arms were cold to touch.

"Stop stroking my person, you vile man!"

Cuthalion pulled her closer. The shapely backside he had swatted was now tucked firmly against his groin and stirrings began that he fought to suppress.  His breath tickled her ear as he whispered.

"Why? I sense it is more than your bare arms you wish my to stroke, híril nin"

She gasped at the image his words invoked and whispered back,

"You will be wishing for a very long time that you had had the opportunity." 

Cuthalion chuckled.

"Very likely for time is something I have in abundance" his words held a hint of sadness.

Eruanne frowned at his words and became silent as she watched the familiar trees disappear to be replaced by denser foliage.  This would not do.  If an escape was to be made – now was the time.

She held her breath and relaxed her body.  Cuthalion did not appear to notice. Good, she thought.  They slowed to a trot and became a single file line as they crossed a stretch of water.  Eruanne reached for the buttons holding her skirts fastened and she quickly undid them as Cuthalion waited for his turn to cross.  With her skirts loosened she could divest herself of the extra weight and easily swim under water in her breeches until she was swept away far enough to climb ashore safely and get back to the familiar woods she knew.  

The elf was in the centre of the waters before he knew what she was attempting.  Eruanne reared back as hard as she could; simultaneously she planted her elbow into his ribs. He cried out, releasing his grip from her as the back of her head met his face and the air was forced from his lungs.  She slid off the horse and splashed into the waist deep water.  Cuthalion came to his senses quickly and was after her in a heartbeat.  Unfortunately for him, he grabbed her by the nearest item – her skirt.  It came off in his hands as she dove under and swam out of his sights. 

It was his turn to curse.  Fitter laughed at the expression on his face.  

"Let her go, my Prince.  She is far too clever to be drowned in a shallow brook.  She will be washed to shore and be found by our patrols in no time." Celairdon called to him.

Cuthalion doubted they would find this one again.  He regretted that.  She had interested him in a manner he had not felt for an age.  He dropped her sodden skirts and watched them drift with the current.  Leaping atop his horse he continued with the journey.

During the altercation, it had not escaped Fitter and Mori's notice that they were not riding with men but elves…Thranduil was waiting.


End file.
